Calitain looked up at the sound of his Christian name, his eyes darker than pits in Hell.
Hugh stared down at the other man. “I’ve been a fool—but no longer. Killing is too good for you and it is no good for me. You’ve dealt in human misery and have ruined thousands of lives, but mine will not become one of them.” He turned away and Daphne closed her eyes to stop the tears, sagging bonelessly against Hugh’s giant horse. Thank God.
Something warm and velvety brushed her cheek and she opened her eyes to find Pasha watching her. He snorted and gave her a bored look, as if to say this type of thing happened all the time and she’d better become accustomed to it. His jaw resumed its stolid up and down motion as he enjoyed a brief snack, not about to allow human foolishness to get between him and a meal.
Daphne brushed away her tears and rubbed his soft chin. He snorted his approval and stomped a huge hoof in emphasis.
“You are wise to remain calm,” she murmured, scratching his chin and causing his eyes to close in equine bliss. She turned toward the clutch of men surrounding the man she loved. “I can see how living with such a man will have taught you that.” She planted a kiss on the big beast’s nose before going to his master.
The men moved aside as she came near.
Kemal bowed. “The demons are gone now.”
Daphne didn’t need to ask which demons he meant—she’d seen them with her own eyes.
She touched Hugh’s shoulder, almost afraid to look at his face when he turned around. But the first thing she noticed were the bloody cuts that ran across his chest and forehead and she sucked in a noisy breath. “Hugh! Oh, God—”
A big hand gently tilted her head so she was looking at his face, rather than his chest.
“Hello, darling.” He stared down at her, his eyes—both of them—warm and smiling.
Daphne’s gaze briefly flickered to his blood-smeared forehead. The cut was oozing, but it was nowhere as deep as the one on his torso.
“Hugh, your wounds. You must—”
He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off the ground, and squeezed her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “Oh my beautiful, beautiful, darling,” he rumbled in her ear as he held her close. “How many times do I have to tell you not to get into carriages with strange men?” A chuckle reverberated through his chest as he crushed her body against his.
“Hugh . . . can’t . . . breathe.”
He lowered her to the ground. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, and then covered her mouth with his and kissed her with an urgency that told her more than words ever could. He released her and leaned back to look at her, wincing. “Lord, what a bloody mess I’ve made of your fetching gown. And I do so love that shade of yellow on you.”
Daphne laughed weakly. “I’m afraid you were too late to ruin this one, my lord.”
“We’ll get you a dozen more in this same design.” He ran a big finger around the tattered keyhole neckline, his nostrils flaring as he skimmed her bosom.
She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
“You mean other than women’s fashions?”
Daphne sighed, and Hugh laughed, pulling her close to kiss the top of her head. “Come, let’s get you home.” He led her toward Pasha.
Daphne stopped and motioned to Malcolm’s body. “What about him?” she asked, and then pointed to Calitain and Jean-Paul, who’d been bound and were being led to the rowboat. “And them?”
“Sir Malcolm tragically perished inside his fishing hut when it caught fire. Unfortunately, he’d been drinking and did not smell the smoke.” Hugh’s grim tone told her how much he regretted her cousin’s death.
“As for those two?” They watched the men scrambling into the boat, their hands tied behind them. “I think it is time they had a taste of what they were so willing to inflict on thousands of others. Martín will drop them off with some associates of ours who will make sure Calitain and his crew of slavers don’t see freedom for a very long time.”
He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her onto Pasha’s back before swinging up behind her only a tad less gracefully than usual. He circled her with one arm and pulled her back against him, his breath hot on her ear. “Shall we go home, my darling wife-to-be so I can get you out of these clothes and into bed?” He gave a wicked chuckle. “Or should we see what is possible on horseback?” His hips pushed suggestively against her back.
“What? You are not up to doing both, my lord?”
His booming laugh echoed through the small clearing and Daphne indulged in a private smile; it seemed she knew how to flirt, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was well past midnight by the time Hugh came to Daphne’s chambers. He wore the same robe she’d seen once before, a luxurious Chinese silk that hugged the contours of his big body. He had a plaster on his temple and a much larger bandage around his chest.
She was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, and their eyes met in the glass. Her entire body tightened at the look on his face as he came toward her.
“Has everything been taken care of?” she asked.
He took the brush from her hand and began to run it through her hair, his gaze fastened to hers. “Malcolm and the fishing shack are now smoldering rubble and Calitain and his crew of slavers are on a long journey.” He paused in his brushing and glanced up. “You will be interested to hear it was your prior maid—Fowler, or Mrs. Blake, rather—who was responsible for the anonymous letters Will Standish has been receiving.”
Daphne was more than interested—she was stunned. “How did you learn that?”
“Martín went to Whitton Park to find her husband—Blake—to . . . er, question him about his part in your abduction. Instead, he found a very remorseful Mrs. Blake. It seems Blake had absconded and left her to face the consequences.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid Mrs. Blake also confessed she was the one who’d disclosed the truth about your sons to Blake to begin with in a moment of weakness. Blake, of course, told Hastings. In any case, she sent the letters, hoping to make up for her actions.”
Daphne nodded, too hurt by the woman’s betrayal to want to think about it just now. “Well, it sounds as if everything is under control.”
“Almost everything.” One side of his mouth pulled into a suggestive smile. Naturally, she blushed and, just as naturally, he laughed.
Her heart fluttered under his steady regard. “You are the most appalling tease, Hugh.”
“Your hair is glorious,” was his answer. He slowly pulled the brush from crown to waist. The sensation of his hands in her hair was nothing compared to watching his powerful arms and hands flexing as he groomed her. And he looked achingly gorgeous in his extravagant robe. Daphne glanced at her own reflection and frowned. She wore the nicest nightgown she possessed, but it was a simple, prim thing, not the lacy confection he was no doubt accustomed to seeing on his women.
She looked up from the high neck of her nightgown and met his eyes. Her breath caught; the planes of his face looked hard and dangerous and his mismatched eyes burned. He put the brush on her dressing table and took her shoulders and drew her back against him, until she could feel the hard ridge of his erection. He flexed his hips against her, stroking his arousal in the hollow between her shoulder blades. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, an expression of bliss on his face.
Daphne stared; could there be anything more erotic than bringing pleasure to one’s lover and watching his face? It made her want to give him more, to drive him crazy with sensation, as he had done with her.
Daphne turned around, until she was facing him. When she rested her hands on his thighs, his eyes opened and his lips parted, as if he’d just woken from a trance. She tugged open the sash that held his robe closed. When she parted it, her heart pounded so clamorously she felt sure he must hear it.
She looked at the hard, thick length of him and found it difficult to breath. Her eyes drifted fr
om his arousal to the thin line of hair that ran up his enticingly muscled stomach and up between his ribs before spreading to cover his chest with golden down. He shuddered and leaned in to her touch when she took him in her hand.
“Daphne.” The single word sounded as though it had been torn from him: a prayer, a command, a plea.
She stroked the thick shaft from the base to the smooth head, fascinated by everything she held in the palm of her hand. The skin was softer even than a baby’s, but it covered a singularly masculine hardness. Moisture formed under her touch. “Tell me how to please you,” she said, barely able to tear her eyes away from this fascinating part of him.
He looked at her from beneath heavy lids. “Keep stroking me just as you are. The end is very sensitive, as are my jewels.” His green eye glinted with a mixture of amusement and arousal, his voice deeper than usual. She raised her other hand and cupped him, amazed by the fragility of the male body.
“God yes,” he groaned, and she smiled at the raw need in his voice, stroking him more confidently while learning the shape of him. She ran her thumb through the moisture he was producing and used it to lubricate her motions. When her hand had developed a rhythm that seemed to please him she leaned in and lapped at his head with her tongue.
“Bloody hell!” The words burst out of him and his feet slid farther apart, bringing him lower and closer to her mouth. She took only the head of him, her other hand continuing its gentle massaging.
“Yes, just so,” he praised hoarsely. His hand moved to caress the line of her jaw and then touch the place where her taut lips wrapped around his hard, silky flesh. He made a low animal noise, as if pleased by how he stretched and filled her mouth. “Take me deeper. Ah yes . . . that’s it.” He wove his fingers into her hair, holding her lightly.
Daphne realized, with no small amount of surprise, that such an activity required a good deal of coordination. Even so, she could tell by his breathing he was struggling to restrain his crisis, so she must be pleasing him.
Encouraged, she moved a hand to hold the base of him and his movements immediately became less controlled, until she felt a tremor ripple through him. He slid his fingers to where her mouth held him and she felt his body stiffen just before he jerked away, holding her firmly with one hand when she tried to follow.
She stared in wide-eyed fascination as he administered a few savage strokes and then spent onto his stomach, his muscles as hard as stone as his body absorbed an explosion of pleasure, and then another, and another.
Daphne had never felt so much power—or such burning physical need.
His eyes opened a crack as he stood swaying in the wake of his climax, his chest heaving. He gave her a languid smile, looking very much like a big cat that had just consumed a bowl of cream.
“You made me come quicker than a boy with his first opera dancer.”
Daphne’s face heated at his crude words and she dropped her gaze.
He traced her lips with the tip of one finger and chuckled tiredly. “What? Are you shy with me? After that?”
Daphne watched his naked body with growing lust as he went about the business of cleaning himself. He filled the basin from a pitcher of water, his back to her, offering an utterly fascinating view of long, powerful legs, firm, muscular buttocks that flared out to an impossibly broad back and shoulders. He tossed the soiled cloth to the floor and turned, catching her gawking, his lips pulling into a wicked, satisfied smile.
“Come,” he said, taking one of her hands and leading her to her bed, waiting until she climbed in before getting in beside her and pulling the sheet over them.
He turned on his side, his eye staring into hers as his fingers worked the buttons of her nightgown, not stopping until it was open to her navel. His gaze flickered to her exposed torso and he groaned.
“I’d love nothing better than to slide inside you and ride you to pleasure.” He slipped a warm, strong hand over her ribs, stroking her sensitive skin with agonizing lightness. “But your ancient lover needs a little time to rally the troops, so I’m afraid I’ll need to find an alternate way of amusing us.” He reached up to brush back a stray curl, his warm, slightly roughened hand going from her face to her neck, before finally stopping at her breast. He circled his palm over her already hardened nipple and she closed her eyes.
“Did you learn your spectacular new skill from the book you stole from me?” he whispered, and then took her breast in his mouth.
Daphne seemed to be having a difficult time finding the right words.
“Borrowed,” she gasped, her voice sounding like somebody else’s.
He laughed softly, the sound arrowing from her breast to her sex. “Do you wish me to take my time or do you want your pleasure now?”
She kept her eyes closed, trying to give his question the consideration it deserved. On the one side there was—
His hand slid down her stomach toward the top of her thighs. When he reached his destination he cupped her through the fine cotton, holding her in his grasp, his clever fingers motionless. “Tell me what you want. I’m yours to command—you have enslaved me, Daphne.”
She thrilled at his words, her hips shaking with need. “I want my pleasure now.” Her voice shook and her face flamed and the last word was a choked whisper.
His lips curved against the thin skin of her temple. “As you wish, my love.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, nipping and sucking while his hand inched up the front of her gown with agonizing slowness, until the hem passed over her private curls.
His finger brushed the seam of her tightly clenched thighs. “Open your legs for me, Daphne.” The muscles of her thighs jumped and twitched as she spread them. His clever finger grazed her lips from her bud to her entrance, stroking her more firmly with each sweep, until he parted her.
Daphne shivered and clenched her jaws at the moans threatening to escape.
He slid a finger inside her and Daphne bucked against his hand.
His thumb sought the most sensitive spot on her body and began circling while he probed, gently pumping until she could hear the wet sounds of her arousal. He slid a second finger to join the first, his thrusts deeper and less controlled while his relentless thumb worked her until excruciating pleasure overwhelmed all thought and released her from her body.
“That’s right, my beautiful darling. Give yourself to me,” Hugh whispered as she clenched and convulsed around him, his fingers teasing a second even more acute explosion, the alternating surges of raw sensation robbing her of all thought.
Daphne was vaguely aware of Hugh settling beside her and covering her cooling, sweat-slicked body. She struggled to open her eyes but they were weighted by pleasure and all she could do was make a low noise of contentment.
He slid an arm around her and stroked her, his rhythmic motions hypnotic. Daphne burrowed into him, careful of the bandage across his chest and lowered her mouth over his heart, strong and steady, beating for her.
“I love you, Hugh.” The words were simple and yet the most complex any human could ever say to another.
“Mmmm, sweetheart, how I have waited to hear those words from your sweet lips.” His voice was husky. “I love you, Daphne.”
Daphne slid her arms around the muscular column of his neck. “I was so afraid for you tonight, Hugh. I died a thousand times watching you—fearing for your life.” She bit her lip, her eyes blurring with tears. “I know I agreed in London that I could live with you taking voyages on the Ghost, doing what you love, but—”
“Daphne.” Hugh rolled onto his back and pulled her with him, positioning her on his hips and looking up at her, smiling tenderly. “I promise, my love, no more sword fighting.”
She blinked away her tears. “No?”
“No. As for voyages on the Ghost? I find suddenly that I’m no longer interested in going out to sea and looking for trouble.”
Daphne was dizzy with relief. “Do you mean it? Are you quite certain? I don’t wish to force such a decision on you. I
wouldn’t like it if—”
“Shhh, sweetheart. You aren’t making me do anything I don’t wish to do.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed the palm of her hand. “I’m terribly sorry you had to become a part of my sordid past. You must have been terrified to find yourself in Calitain’s hands.”
“I was terrified at first, but as the day dragged on I was too exhausted to be scared.” She shook her head. “That man is three-quarters insane. He did not hurt me; he saved that for Malcolm. He ranted and raved endlessly. How do you think he met Malcolm?”
Hugh shrugged. “Many Englishmen see no harm in profiting from smuggling, and that leads some to engage in the slave trade, which is more lucrative than any other contraband. I wouldn’t be surprised if Malcolm knew somebody who’d done business with Calitain in the past and couldn’t resist the return such a venture promised.”
“I’m so sorry, Hugh.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Sorry? Why? What have you done?
“I believe it was Malcolm who tampered with your saddle, or caused it to be done. I think he was mad enough to think I would marry him and feared you might somehow interfere. If I had told you about his blackmailing, perhaps none of this ever would have happened. It is because of me that your life has been threatened at least twice.”
As usual, Hugh surprised her. He laughed.
“What could you possibly find amusing in that?”
He set his hands on her hips, and his eyes flickered over her as he smiled, the look softening the hard planes of his face. “I’m sorry, I should not laugh. But one of the things you must know about your husband-to-be is that he has a very odd sense of humor.”
She crossed her arms. “I’ve noticed.”
“I laughed because I learned the saddle vandal is none other than your cranky servant Rowena.”
Daphne’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“The poor woman believed I had come to disrupt your life the same way Hastings had. She was only trying to protect you. I’ve told her she is to forget both the unfortunate incident as well as any thoughts of trying such a thing again. I can forgive her for it once; twice would be more difficult.”
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